The Trials of Jack the Ripper
by Aracell
Summary: Tensions are high when Grell returns to the Association to face the consequences of his actions in the mortal realm. And as it turns out, the consequences are dire.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Note to self, don't use the copy and paste feature when uploading new docs. Thanks for pointing out the formatting issue, and so begins the actual story!

The sharp click of heels sounded against the drab tile floor of the Grim Reaper Association's London Branch, each one bouncing off the walls in an echo as Grell Sutcliff made his way. The sound reminded him so much of a ticking clock, steadily counting down what seemed like his final moments. Soon, he would be faced with a single, boring door. Any moment now, that door would open, and so, too, would Pandora's Box.

 _Click... click...click…_

Really, so what if he had managed to botch his last assignment? It was a boring one, anyway. So a few people died that weren't supposed to; what was the big deal? Their names may have not been on the To-Die list, but they would have been soon enough. It was just a matter of time, really; prostitutes died left and right, even without Grell's help. It's not like their continued life would be beneficial to the world or anything. In his own opinion, he did a wonderful job, killing five or six birds with one stone.

 _Click... click…_

William saw things differently, he supposed. After all, he'd made it perfectly clear that he wanted to see the Grell in his office the moment his injuries were no longer a concern. And if the redhead were to be perfectly honest, the wounds he suffered at the hands of that demon had stopped hurting two or three days ago. He had simply stayed in his apartment the entire time, trying to put this meeting off as long as he possibly could. It had taken every last ounce of poor Ronald's determination to convince him that it was best to get this over with.

 _Click._

Grell paused mere inches from the door in front of him, trying to chase away his worries before entering. After all, this was _William_. To anyone else, that might seem like more of a threatening thought than being placed in front of the entire Board of Judicial Affairs. But Grell and William were close, in spite of how much the latter might try to deny it. Perhaps he would write out an order of suspension or demotion, but Will would never outright terminate his job. Cold man that he was, he wasn't blatantly cruel.

His concerns replaced with a sort of reassurance, Grell took a deep breath and put on a smile. He raised his hand for a moment, contemplating on a knock before scrapping that idea and just throwing the blasted thing open to let himself inside.

"Will, I'm here~! What is it you wanted to see me about?"

If looks could kill, the glare William gave the redhead sauntering into his office would have slaughtered an entire army. He sat quietly and politely behind his desk, elbows propped up on the mahogany and his hands clasped loosely together in front of his face. In front of him sat a thin manilla folder, a few papers sticking out of the side, as if they'd been gone through recently and just tossed back in haphazardly.

"Do you know, by chance, why you're here, Grell?" William asked, though it had a deeply rhetorical tone.

Of course Grell knew why he was there - how couldn't he? Getting him to admit it, though, that was another story entirely. "I'm here because you called me here, silly," he pointed out without missing a beat, chuckling softly as he closed the door to the office and made his way to stand in front of William's desk. Gloved hands slid to his hips, shifting his weight to one leg as he waited for William to continue. "So what is it that you want? You'd better start explaining soon, else I'm going to get bored."

The manilla envelope slid across the desk and stopped just short of falling off. "I wouldn't find myself in a position to make remarks like that, if I were in your situation."

Green and yellow eyes flickered to the folder as Grell's recently-placed confidence dropped every moment. Grell let his hands fall from his hips, a few delicate fingers brushing over the cover before flipping it open, tracing the words as he skimmed the first page. A list of laws he had broken, done in William's own hand by the elegant look of it. It wasn't anything he didn't expect, really. Illegal modification and use of his death scythe, his disappearance, meddling in the affairs of the living world, murder. How boring. He knew all of that.

Grell stopped at that page, eyes briefly traveling up to study William. Oh, there was that glare again... Under any normal circumstance, that look sent shivers up and down his spine. He supposed it still had the same effect now, just for a different cause entirely. Where he normally built himself up under that cruel stare, now he was shrinking under it. For lack of a better word, Will looked pissed off.

"Keep reading," Will instructed when Grell stared a moment too long, tone firm and monotonous. Definitely pissed off.

Grell relented and lifted up the report, eyes scanning over the pages rather quickly. Heaving a sigh, he flipped to another page and continued to read. It was a surprisingly lengthy report for how few pages there were. Again, though, these pages were filled with things Grell already knew. One was even a written page of the Association's codes of conduct, and rules that he had broken were underlined. The Board could be so dull and thorough at times that it was downright tedious, especially when it came to him. In their defense, Grell liked to look for loopholes and took advantage of when they didn't mention something, so he supposed they were just taking extra precautions.

Turning another page, Grell's eyes narrowed and then widened in shock. _Evidence list.._ Evidence list?! Grell scanned down the paper quickly, noting so many of his belongings on there. His death scythe was on there! What was this nonsense? Hurriedly, Grell flipped to the final page of the report, but he didn't even make it past the heading:

District Court of The Realm of Death Gods

 _Subpoena ad testificandum_

In the matter of _Realm v. Sutcliff_

The manilla casing and the rest of its contents were discarded on the desk and Grell had either side of the piece of paper in such a tight grasp that he was sure his knuckles were whitening beneath his gloves. "Will... Will, what is this?" he asked, willing his voice to keep steady and quiet. His eyes left the paper to meet Will's, searching for any spark of reassurance in that ever-calm, ever-persistent stare. "Tell me that this isn't what I think it is."

"Tell you that it's not a summons? I don't make a habit of lying," Will said, finally looking away from his subordinate to gather up the papers that the other had so carelessly scattered across his desk. "This is also doubling as an eviction notice. Given that the Momento Mort apartment complex is free housing only provided to those within the Association, you're asked to have your things out within the next forty-eight hours."

Grell's eyes followed William's hands, his throat constricting tightly as a mix of anger and panic welled up in him. Gloved fingers curled dangerously around the court summons, effectively crumpling it before the redhead slammed his hands on the desk in front of him. "How can you be so calm?!" he yelled, mere inches from his supervisor's face. William merely raised his head to look at Grell; nothing more, nothing less. No hint of emotion at all. "I'm about to lose _everything_ and you don't even-"

"I don't see how that's my problem, Grell."

" _Come again_?"

William pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose before leaning back in his chair to regain some form of privacy. "Seeing as how you are apparently incapable of only reaping those who are fated to die, the Board has seen fit to remove you from your position. You've shown yourself to be an incompetent reaper and a disgrace to the Association. That is no one's fault but your own."

A look of shock passed Grell's features, eyes widening just the slightest bit. Incompetent? A _disgrace_? Whatever Grell could have said in his defense was lost on him; he wasn't even able to form a coherent thought, let alone argue this point with Will. Will, of all people.. This was the man that he had been partners with, the man he had spent the better part of a century pining over. That same man thought he was a disgrace?

Pushing himself away from the desk, Grell straightened himself up and clenched his jaw, absentmindedly brushing imaginary dirt off his vest. "I see," he said simply, taking up the manilla folder and crumpled subpoena from the otherwise clear desk. He straightened the abused paper out as much as he could before slipping it back into the file and clutching it to his chest. "I'm terribly sorry to have been such a _disgrace,_ William."

Grell turned on his heel, moving toward the door. He paused momentarily after his fingers curled around the door knob, wanting so badly to say something more. What he wanted to say, he wasn't really sure. To tell William that he was wrong? To say he was sorry? To beg and plead for the safety of his job? His fingers tightened around the door handle, closing his eyes to fight back a sharp, familiar sting before opening the door and quietly closing it behind him, no matter how badly he wanted to slam it.

He took his time leaving, savoring his final moments in the same building he'd just referred to as dull and drab. Everything was so white, so pristine, so bland, but it wasn't until he was faced with losing his job that he realized it would miss it terribly. He'd miss the hustle of the rest of the staff around him, running between departments to try and compensate for understaffing. He'd miss working with Ronald, with Alan, with Eric, with-

Choking back his tears, Grell pushed through the glass doors of the Grim Reaper Association for the last time. He took the steps slowly, not particularly feeling like going back to his apartment. Or what _used to be_ his apartment, rather, as William had been so kind to point out that he was also being evicted. Where would he go? He just lost his job, and without that, he couldn't really afford any other means of housing. He wasn't proficient in anything else. He'd been doing field work for so long that he never had to picture himself doing anything else. Now he felt useless.

Grell approached his apartment with a shaken breath, fumbling a moment to get the key in the lock. _Damn William,_ he thought, struggling with the lock a moment more before he was able to open the door. _Damn Will, and damn the Board._

He closed the door softly behind him, depositing of his coat and shoes and dumping himself onto his couch, dropping the file he'd received from William on the small coffee table. Grell scowled. That stupid file. It really served no other purpose than to _officially_ tell Grell that his entire life was over. He'd been such a dedicated reaper save for this last assignment, and this is how the Board repaid him? In a fit of rage, Grell snatched the damned folder from his table, launching it toward the opposite wall before throwing himself to lay down on the couch, turned to the cushions. He was sure that he would look a pathetic sight if anyone could have seen him throwing a tantrum like a berated child.

He would get through this, William be damned. Grell was fiercely independent and far too hot-headed to just lay down and die. Yes, he would find a way to make it through this.

For now though, he allowed himself to cry.

Cry, and rest.


	2. Chapter 2

"...ell... you alright... sir? ...Grell!"

Grell woke with a sharp breath, eyes snapping open at the sound of incessant rapping at his door. He curled up tighter on the couch, one arm tucked to his chest while the other went to fetch his glasses, which had sometime in his sleep fallen from his face and remained leashed only by his chain. Glasses in place, Grell let his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, brow furrowing in confusion before he twisted at the waist to look back at his clock. Who could possibly be yelling at his door at this time of night? With a groan that lay somewhere between defeat and annoyance, Grell swung his legs off the couch, gathering his wits about him for a moment before marching to his door and swinging it open.

" _What?"_ he demanded before the door was entirely open. If this was William, so help him God, the man would never live to see another day.

"Geez, sir, was just making sure you were alright," Ronald said, holding his hands up in defense. Grell let out a breath of relief, stepping aside to let Ronald in. The younger man nodded his head in thanks, stepping inside and making himself at home on the couch as he usually did. "I heard what happened, with you getting the boot and all that."

"How quaint," Grell murmured as he shut the door. Ronald always had such a polite and subtle way of putting things. Inwardly rolling his eyes, Grell moved to gather up the papers he had so brutally thrown against his poor, unsuspecting wall hours earlier and filed them away in their folder before tossing the blasted thing back to his coffee table.

Ronald leaned forward to drag the file toward himself, flipping it open and scanning through the papers. Grell moved about the room as he spoke; he wouldn't call it _pacing,_ per se, but it _was_ technically pacing. "I don't know what to _do,_ Ronald," he whined, bouncing from one side of the room to the other, hands pulling at his hair. "I needed that job! I needed this apartment! I don't know what I'm going to do now."

His woes merely earned a light hum in response. Ronald's eyes burned with a particular concentration as he flipped back and forth between two sheets, so Grell highly doubted he was paying much attention.

"And what's worse!" Grell nevertheless continued, pausing and throwing his hands up in exasperation as he turned to Ronald. "He doesn't even care! He is completely throwing me to the wolves, Ronnie, and he doesn't care a bit. Bastard even had the nerve, the sheer _audacity_ to call me a disgrace!"

"The Boss actually said that?" Ronald asked, eyebrows raised in mild surprise as he looked up from whatever it was in that report that he was so interested in. Grell nodded stiffly before continuing his constant pacing, and Ronald went back to his studying of the documents before him. "What else did he say?"

Grell gave an exaggerated shrug. "Nothing. No, 'I hope things work out,' or 'Best of luck.'"

"So he didn't tell you _why_ they were taking this to court?"

At that, Grell stopped and turned to the younger reaper, confusion lacing his otherwise irritated features. Throwing himself down to the couch next to the blonde, Grell looked over his shoulder at the papers. "No..?" the redhead trailed off. Obviously Ronald was seeing something that he hadn't. "What do you mean?"

Ronald scooted the file over toward Grell's side of the coffee table, his finger circling a curious little line at the bottom of the list of laws Grell had broken. Above that line was a list of signatures. One was easily spotted as the Director's fine penmanship, and below his were ten others - six of the other Board members, and four from the department heads. And beneath those, a simple line. Grell stared hard, then looked back to Ronald in search of the answer he was apparently supposed to be looking for. The other man merely nodded toward the paper again, grin pulling at the corners of his lips. Grell gave a huff of annoyance before looking at the list one more time. Eleven signatures, then a line.

 _Wait a moment…_

"Will's signature is missing." A revelation that was both profound and dumb at the same time. Grell looked up from the signatures to search Ronald for some sort of explanation. "What does that mean?"

"Had Mr. Spears signed his name, they could have bypassed the trial altogether and unanimously deliver a verdict amongst themselves," Ronald explained, flipping through some papers until he found the subpoena. "Since he marked out the place where his signature would go, they're required to give you a fair go at things."

Grell grabbed the papers from the table, holding the signatures in front of his face, reading and rereading them to make sure this was real. So Will was standing up for him? But what about all of those things he said in the office! Will was so confusing, saying all of those awful things about him one moment and then standing up on his behalf the next.

Dropping the papers to his lap, Grell stared blankly at the clock across the room, tapping his nails idly against the file. It was late. Too late, in fact, for him to even be up and about, and certainly too late for the idea that was sparking in his head.

"Ronnie," Grell spoke after a long moment. The blonde turned to him, humming in response. "I need you to help me pack."

* * *

It was late when William left work, as so often was the case lately. The past four months had landed him with a daunting amount of work - _Grell's_ work - that needed to be taken care of. Unpaid overtime was always on his list of things he'd rather avoid doing, but now more than ever the mention of it made him absolutely livid. His own work had to be shifted and scheduled around what was supposed to be Sutcliff's field work, and more often than not now, he returned home a mere six or seven hours before his next shift started just to make sure everything got done.

Tonight was no different.

As he strode along cobbled pavement, William let out a deep breath that was visible against the chilled November air. There were times when he wished he still lived in Momento Mort; he envied the residents' close proximity to work in comparison to his own long walk home. He'd left the apartment complex with his promotion to manager of Dispatch, given that the job came with a rather hefty pay raise. Why he hadn't picked a house in the immediate area, or why the walk seemed to get longer and longer each winter, he'd never know.

A particularly cruel wind rushed over him, prompting him to shove his only free hand into the pocket of his overcoat. His other hand held tight to his ledger, full of papers that he'd had no time for before the doors to headquarters had to be locked, or papers that pertained to the recent events concerning the very redhead who was the reason he had so much work in the first place. William took another deep breath, trying to shake away that thought.

 _"I'm terribly sorry to have been such a disgrace, William."_

Those words had been playing in his mind, as much as he'd tried to make them stop. Rarely, if ever, did William T. Spears regret anything. It simply was not in his nature. And if he were to be perfectly honest, it wasn't calling Grell a disgrace that he regretted - he'd done so many times before, after all, and each time he'd meant it. Grell was a very competent employee, when he wanted to be. He was passionate about his work, almost to a fault, and his paperwork - when he did it - was very thorough and accurate. What was so disgraceful is the fact that he never showed it. His paperwork was always late, if he ever even did it. He was known for breaking countless codes of conduct based on his promiscuity alone. And none of this was even brushing upon the Jack the Ripper incident.

No, William did not regret calling Grell a disgrace. He wasn't sure what it was he regretted, honestly. Letting him walk out the door, perhaps. But it wasn't as if William could have said anything to make the reality of the situation better, and even if he could, he wouldn't have. He could have put everything in much nicer terms, sugar-coated it to make Grell believe everything would be alright. It wouldn't be, though. The weight of the situation was that Grell could be convicted and killed on the charges he was facing. If the Director had gotten his way, had William just signed his name, the Board would have delivered a penalty already.

Perhaps that was what he regretted - not telling Grell that he was trying to give him a fighting chance.

William pulled his keys out of his pocket as he found himself finally climbing the steps to his home. It was a rather large house, more room than William could ever see himself needing. It had a total of four bedrooms, one used as his own and one he'd made into a study. The other two were still untouched, because even as long as he'd lived there, he couldn't figure out what to do with them. Even if he did think of something, he really doubted he could be bothered to do anything about it. The only visitors he really ever got were Board members, and he wasn't exactly keen on showing them any of the bedrooms.

Pocketing his keys again after he'd unlocked his door, William pushed it open with his shoulder while his free hand went to unbuttoning his overcoat. His ledger was discarded on a nearby table which was otherwise empty save for a single lamp.

A lamp that was _on._

William stared at it, slowly shrugging his coat off. Surely there was no chance that he'd left it on when he left for work. He was always so diligent about these things. He hung his coat up on the nearby rack and strode quietly back over to the lamp, turning it off and listening for a moment to see if he could hear any sort of movement that wasn't his own. After long moments of deep silence, he brushed it off. Perhaps he was being paranoid.

His nerves put at ease, William ascended the wooden staircase. It had been much too long a day, and whatever stress he had built up was causing him paranoia over things he'd merely forgotten to do. Honestly, he really needed a day off and-

 _Thump._

William stopped halfway up the steps, but only for a moment before finishing the rest of the stairs in record time. The first door down the hall was open, only by a margin. His bedroom door was _open_ and there was _light._ William took long strides, quickly closing the distance between his room and himself, putting his palm flat on the door and swinging it open with a force that caused it to bounce back after it hit the wall.

"My, my~ You're sure home late!"

Color William surprised. He stared ahead, completely blank as to how to react. In front of him, on his bed, was Grell Sutcliff himself. He lay on his stomach, an open book propped on one of the pillows and another book haphazardly tossed on the floor - likely the source of the noise he just heard.

When William spoke, he did it carefully, doing his best to keep his voice calm and composed. "What are you doing in my house?" he asked, watching Grell mark the place in his book and close it, placing it on the closest nightstand. "Rather, _how_ did you get in my house?"

"You should hide your spare key better, Will," he answered simply, rolling off of the bed and immediately latching onto William's arm, hugging it close to himself. Will quickly withdrew and took a step back, prompting a frown from Grell. The redhead threw his hands on his hips, leaning forward just a bit. "Since you're the one who had me kicked out of my home, it's only common courtesy to share your own."

William had to hold himself back from rolling his eyes and pointing out that it was _technically_ the Personnel Department, not William, who had kicked him out. "Remove yourself from my house or I will do it for you," he stated simply, slipping out of his suit jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair and going about things as if a former subordinate _hadn't_ broken into his house.

Grell watched as William went about his routine, discarding his jacket, vest and gloves and pulling his tie loose. A sight that would entrance him during any other circumstance set his blood to a boil. "You're just going to kick a lady out? Twice in one day? That's not a very gentlemanly thing to do, Will."

"I never claimed to be a gentleman."

The redhead made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and planting himself on the bed. When William looked over with a curious, challenging look, Grell merely crossed his legs, too. He was staying put! It wasn't fair for William to kick him out of his own house and then refuse him a place to stay, too. The place was big enough for the two of them. He'd collected that little fact when he'd first gotten there, treating himself to a small tour of the place. This house had two extra rooms that were just gathering dust otherwise. Will didn't need to be so selfish.

"I'm not leaving," Grell informed him, turning his head away from William quickly, hair flying up to scribble little red arcs in the air.

William took a deep breath, his voice retaining its calm and precise tone, with just a little hint of exasperation. "I can see that." He sat down in the chair he'd hung his jacket on, eyes moving from Grell - who was blatantly refusing to look at him now - to bags and boxes that hadn't been there when he'd left for work this morning. "You pack quickly."

Grell twisted around, looking to William and following his line of sight. "Oh, that. I had Ronnie help me with packing and moving since he had nothing better to do." William gave him a curious look, and for a moment Grell almost felt bad for probably throwing Ronald to the wolves when William showed up to work tomorrow. Almost.

The room fell silent for a long while as William leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and his fingers drumming idly on his arm. He looked back to the luggage before staring straight ahead and letting his eyes fall shut. With a deep breath, William gave in. "You won't be sleeping in here."

The break in such a long silence caused Grell to jump ever so slightly. He was startled again he'd registered what William had just said. "Come again?" His heart skipped a beat and he suddenly felt dizzy. He hadn't expected for William to let him stay! Of course, he had no intention of leaving whether or not Will agreed to it anyway. But he was being so lovely and complicit! How delightful.

William left his seat, leaning down to retrieve the book that had been so carelessly tossed to the floor earlier and brushing it off. He read the title on the spine. A translated copy of A Critique of Pure Reason. Definitely something that Grell had borrowed from one of his shelves instead of bringing from his own apartment. "There is a settee in my study that you can use for the time being. I see you're already familiar with that part of the house," William pointed out, gesturing to the book in his hand before tossing it on the bed next to Grell. "Put that back on the shelf, if you would. The other one you took, too."

The bed jumped a bit as the book was thrown down next to him. Grell looked down at it and ran his fingers over the cover. Such a boring book, but so like William to have it. The stoic man in question was looming over the mass of luggage the redhead had brought with him, likely having an internal debate concerning if he should leave them there until tomorrow or not.

Grell pushed himself up from the bed and dusted himself off before gliding over next to William, hands behind his back. William spoke without looking over. "You can move these to a spare room while I finish the last of my paperwork."

That prompted a frown. "You still have paperwork, after that long of a shift?" Grell asked. William brushed past him to return to his chair, retrieving a pen from his pocket and making his way for the door. Grell made sure to follow closely, staying in tow as William descended the stairs again.

"I do," he answered simply, pulling his ledger off the small table it'd been discarded on. " _Your_ paperwork, might I add." A resigned _hmph_ came from over his shoulder as he made his way to the living room, placing his ledger on the large glass-top table in front of the couch and taking a seat. Grell sat beside him, staring at the papers peeking out from the large tome with a look of concern and something else William couldn't quite place.

The loose papers in his ledger were pulled out and organized in two small stacks; in one, the normal, trivial paperwork that came with doing field work, and in the other, the more unusual paperwork revolving around the Jack the Ripper case. Where William had been Grell's immediate supervisor, the Board made sure he had more than a plethora of things to read and sign. They'd probably make him do it in blood, too, if they could.

Grell watched as William began filling out mundane field reports, occasionally turning pages in his ledger to make sure he got times and dates correct. He always concentrated so hard on his work. He was practically married to it. Seriously, what did those papers have that Grell didn't?

"I thought I told you to move your bags to a spare bedroom."

The sentence jolted Grell from his thoughts, and he opened his mouth to counter that he should be a proper host and do it himself, but he immediately thought better of it. Grell merely gave a light hum in response, turning his glance to the stacks of papers on the table. That was quite a lot of field reports, and even though William was pretty adept at filling out paperwork quickly, that could still take _hours_. Consigning himself to defeat, Grell eyed the field reports on the other side of the table before leaning over William's lap - much to the other's disdain - to reach them.

Once William had his personal space back, his eyes shot to Grell. The redhead had placed a single report in front of himself and was now fishing for something in his coat pocket. "What _are_ you doing, Grell?" he asked, watching the other man give something of a self-satisfied smile when he'd found whatever it was he had been looking for in his pocket; a pen, he'd realized when Grell held it up.

"I'm helping you with paperwork," the redhead clarified, pulling the tome on the table just a bit closer to himself and flipping through a couple of pages. William damn near took his fingers off with how quickly he closed it.

"You do realize that, as you are no longer employed by the Association, you are no longer permitted to fill out these reports, correct?" William asked, though it was really more of a stern reminder than a question. Honestly, even if William _could_ permit it, it was terribly unlike Grell to actually volunteer himself for such an act. "If you want to make yourself useful, you can start by moving your belongings to another room."

Grell gave an agitated huff, shoving William's hand away from where it'd sat on the ledger and flipping it back open to where it had been. "I'll do it after I'm done with this," he said, his tone holding a sense of finality. The one time he offers to do paperwork, and William damns him for it! The man had no sense of gratitude. Normally he had to threaten Grell if he wanted any of these dreadfully dull reports to get done, and here he was, trying to break his hand for it now.

Grell heard William stand suddenly, but he promptly ignored the noise and kept his focus on the report in front of him. Victoria Crowley, age 22, drowned at 12:06 on November 17, 1888. _Poor, poor Victoria,_ Grell mused to himself as he scribbled down information. He hardly even noticed when William came back until he heard the small clink of glass on glass, and he only looked up from his work when he felt the other man sit back down.

"Wine?" he asked, watching as William poured two glasses and set the bottle toward the middle of the table. Grell twisted the bottle so that the label faced him. Red Libourne, 1880. Good taste and year, Grell decided, pulling one of the glasses toward himself and taking a sip. "With how tense you are all the time, I was under the impression that you didn't know how to drink."

"If you insist on filling out reports, I'm going to need it," William answered, taking a drink of his own and returning to his work. That earned a huff of amusement from Grell as he did the same.

It was an hour and a half in, and the majority of a bottle of wine down, before the paperwork was finally done. Grell had, at some point, fallen asleep next to him, head propped up on the armrest as a makeshift pillow. As William gathered the papers back up where they'd been strewn across the table, he had to admit he was thankful that Grell had pushed the matter like he did. If it had only been him doing it, William would probably only be halfway done. He reached for one final paper, held loosely in Grell's hand, and tucked everything away neatly in his ledger.

William went about clearing the table of the mostly-finished bottle of wine and their glasses, moving his ledger back to the small table in the foyeur and leaving Grell where he was for the night. As he climbed back up the stairs, he realized that Grell's things were still in his room, but honestly he was too tired to care anything for it right now. Grell would have time tomorrow while he was at work, he supposed. He briefly thought about how simply and _naturally_ that thought came to him, but he simply disregarded it. The hour was late and he'd had a long day.

Things would go back to normal tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

William had already left for work by the time Grell had stirred awake, which was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, Grell did miss him terribly already. On the other hand, though, the last thing he wanted was for Will to see him gracelessly roll right off the couch. His eyes were fixed bitterly on the glass table, as if that would somehow make the earlier events of this morning go away. Blasted thing nearly took his head off when he fell.

The redhead was perched neatly on the couch, one leg tucked under him and both hands clasped delicately around a cup of coffee, nails tapping the china softly. He sighed dramatically in both agitation and boredom, taking a sip of coffee and sinking as far back into the couch as the cushions would allow. Grell hated days like this, being stuck with nothing to do. He savored days off from work, where he had the opportunity to just relax at home and curl up with a book, but the situation wasn't like that. This wasn't just a day off, this was unemployment. Granted, at least he got to stay at Will's house, but it was no fun if the man wasn't even there. He couldn't even have fun exploring, since he did the bulk of that last night.

Last night... Now that had been something. Grell had never in a million years thought that William would have been so passive when it came to letting him stay, which was nice in itself, but what had really surprised him was after. They'd simply sat down with a bottle of wine and busied themselves with paperwork, and in spite of William's original tentativeness, it had been quite a lovely evening. And they'd stayed like that for quite some time, working in silence save for the scratches of pen on paper and the occasional question from Grell about any significant incidents. Grell hated doing paperwork himself; it was honestly the worst part of working in Dispatch. But it had been nice, helping Will with it. He wasn't quite sure when he'd fallen asleep, but-

Damn. He _had_ fallen asleep, hadn't he? And before he had moved all of his luggage out of William's room, too. Oh well, no point in fretting over it now. If William was extraordinarily upset about it, Grell was sure he'd have been pushed from the couch earlier instead of rolling off of it on his own. Still, this was as good a time as any to get it done. It wasn't like he was doing anything else; and besides, he was sure that if William came home later in the evening and it still wasn't done, Grell would probably find himself short a place to stay.

He tossed back the last of his coffee and, with a bit of reluctance, pushed himself off the couch. He'd taken a few moments to visit the kitchen and leave it in the basin before he made the trek upstairs and into Will's bedroom. All of his things were still huddled in the corner, only with a new addition: the two books that Grell had taken from the study now sat atop one of his bags. The redhead dragged them off of his things, tucking them under one arm and grabbing a bag with his free hand. He took to the study, two doors down on the opposite side of the hall, that was to double as his new bedroom for the time being. It was almost as polite and refined as William's office at work, just with a few extra papers lying about.

The crimson reaper dropped his bag on the white camelback settee - or rather, his new bed - and glided to the bookshelf directly opposite. Will had so many old, boring books, and most of them had a thin layer of dust from lack of attention. The place for the first book was in his immediate reach, but the other was two shelves above his head, and he absently wondered how he had managed to get it down in the first place without some imminent disaster. Regardless, Grell stood on his toes and tried to nudge the book back into its place, dislodging another in the process.

He jumped and swore as the tome fell, hitting the floor next to him with a loud, rather threatening sound. He clutched his hands to his chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly and then slow down again. It had landed open on the floor, pages cast to the ceiling, and Grell swooped down to pick it up, curiously looking over the words and flipping through pages. It seemed like a charming little story, really, and he turned the book slightly to look at the cover.

Grell could've sworn his heart stopped then, two-toned eyes widening slightly at the all-too-familiar, decorative leather. Quickly he snapped the book closed, turning it once more to look at the spine.

 _WS_

 _24 Aug, 1765_

 _14 Apr, 1795_

This wasn't a novel, this was a record. _William's_ record. Grell opened the tome once more, taking long, backward strides until he felt the backs of his legs hit the settee. He slowly lowered himself to sit down and began to read.

* * *

"I'm not entirely sure I understand."

William's office was low-lit, the only illumination coming from the moonlight through his window and the few candles he had burning. The flames danced and flickered as they came closer and closer to the end of their life. It was a shame, really, those had been relatively untouched when this conversation had started.

Now their poor life had been cut short, much like William's patience.

"I believe you understand me fully, Spears. You're an intelligent man, playing dumb ill suits you." The Director, his boss, sat across from him, idly twirling around the glass of whisky that William had poured him out of courtesy. William's own glass remained untouched. "This is not up for debate."

William reclined in his chair, elbows propped up on the armrests and hands loosely clasping each other across his stomach. "On the contrary, I believe it is entirely debatable," he countered immediately. He was not in the habit of arguing with his superiors. Quite frankly, he wasn't fond of the man, but he had more subtle ways of expressing that than outright arguing with him. There was no way around it, though. "Grell's trial hasn't even been scheduled yet and already you're talking of replacing him. You gave both sides two months to collect substantial evidence and testimony before this goes to court, so we can discuss this in two months."

The man opposite him stopped twirling his glass quite suddenly, obviously displeased with William's aggressive attitude. "In case you don't recall, Spears, he was let go with finality from the Association. That was not a decision pending a trial. Regardless of the verdict, he is no longer employed here and thus his position as a Dispatch Officer is open for replacement," the Director reminded him, tone pointed and matter-of-fact.

"With all due respect, sir, I do believe that is not your call to make. It's mine," William challenged. Rather disrespectful, but it was true nonetheless. William was the manager of Dispatch, and unless the Board had ample reason that he couldn't hire or rehire someone, then he was judge and jury in that respect. If Grell's verdict came out favorably, then William could rehire him and there was not a thing the Board could do about it that didn't immediately violate any laws. On that, though, William had very little hopes that Grell would be found in a good light. There was simply no way to make blatant murder look good. Either way, it was still unfair to replace him without giving him a swift and just trial.

William's eyes met the Director's in a cold, unwavering stare. Eventually though, he relented, "I will take him on, but make no mistake, it will not be as Grell's replacement." He wasn't sure if this appeased or angered his superior, but he also wasn't sure he cared one way or the other.

The office fell into a dead silence, and both the room's tension and the Director's suppressed rage were tangible enough to be cut with a knife. After a dreadfully long minute, the man in question tossed back the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down on William's desk along with a file before leaving without so much as a 'goodbye.' William looked at the folder he'd been given, flipping to the first page and starting on his own drink.

* * *

Grell sat at the dinner table, quietly shuffling around vegetables on his plate as William ate in silence. He'd been cold ever since he'd gotten home, and hadn't even commented on the beef a la Rossini which, in Grell's own opinion, he'd done a fantastic job preparing. It wasn't necessarily that he thought William would exactly be talkative after his shift, he just simply wanted some sort of a conversation as a way to warm up to the question that had been plaguing his mind all day.

Quietly lowering his silverware to his plate, Grell tapped his nails in a little rhythm on the table before he sat up straight in his seat. "I'm sorry about falling asleep last night. I did get everything moved while you were away, though." Will merely acknowledged him with a nod and continued eating, and Grell felt a twinge of annoyance. Under any other circumstance, he'd be swooning over the fact that Will actually seemed to enjoy his cooking. But he wanted a _response_ , damn it.

He let the room fall silent again as he took up his wine glass, drowning whatever insecurities he had about what he needed to ask. Grell looked at William from behind his glass, choosing his words carefully. "I even put those dreadfully boring books of yours back on the shelf. One almost took off my head." Still no response. Being roundabout was obviously getting him nowhere. With a deeper, longer drink, he threw caution to the wind. "Who's Abigail?"

William paused at that, tensing just the slightest bit, and Grell had known the man long enough to pinpoint the single emotion that lay beneath the otherwise stoic expression: dread.

"I _knew_ it! That _was_ your record, wasn't it?" Grell asked, taking the fleeting emotion as a small, bittersweet victory.

"Grell-"

"You aren't supposed to have that, Will-"

"Grell."

"-If the Board finds out you've taken it, it'll mean your job and God knows what _else_. How did you even-"

William slammed his hand down on the table with slightly more force than he'd meant to, but it effectively silenced the room save for the rattling of silver on china. Grell stared at him, incredulous, and he had to remember to pick his jaw up off the floor. When William spoke, it was with thinly veiled anger. "When I agreed to let you stay here, it was with the belief that even _you_ had courtesy enough to not go through another person's belongings."

"What do you mean _'even me_?'" Grell asked, his voice high and accusing.

"Honestly."

" _Excuse_ me?"

William stood up from his seat, and Grell pushed his own chair away from the table to follow him. He wasn't letting this go so easily. William walked through the house toward the stairs in the foyeur without even so much as a glance backwards. With narrowed eyes and gritted teeth, Grell reached out to turn him around before he could climb the steps. William didn't make a move to pull his arm free, he simply stared down at Grell with the ever-monotonous demeanor he always had, and somehow that just irked the redhead further. Grell opened his mouth to say something, _anything,_ but it was lost on him.

Noting that Grell didn't seem like he knew what to say, William took the opportunity to speak instead. "Have your things out before my shift ends tomorrow."

Grell stared at him, completely dumbfounded. "You can't be serious." The look Will gave him said otherwise; he was _entirely_ serious. "It was an invasion of privacy and for that I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have that, Will! There are reasons why they're kept locked away."

"I'm well aware that I should not have it," William pointed out and shrugged Grell's hand off of his arm. "After you murder several women and break into my home, it seems a bit out of place that you should try to patronize me about rules."

Grell let his arm fall back to his side, completely at a loss. Several moments passed as he tried to process the situation, and after a while his failure to verbalize his thoughts made him livid. "So what, then, you're just going to kick a lady out? What am I supposed to do now?"

William's carefully placed patience was starting to break. "I was unaware I was dealing with a _lady,_ " he said, noting the growing fire in Grell's narrowed eyes. "Perhaps you should return to that demon, since you seemed more than comfortable throwing yourself at him before. Regardless of what you do, though, what happens to you is no longer my problem and I don't _care-_ "

His sentence was ended abruptly and it didn't take long for the crescendoing string to settle across his face. Grell had slapped him, _hard._ William took slow and heavy breaths as he looked to Grell, who seemed as equally astounded by what had happened as he was. The redhead composed himself with grace quickly enough and merely sidestepped to make sure he went upstairs first.

William wasn't entirely sure how long after that it had been when he had convinced himself to go upstairs, or how long after _that_ he'd been standing in front of the closed door to his study. If not for the few muffled noises he could hear from the other side of the door, it was almost quiet enough to assume Grell had fallen asleep He hadn't though, William knew that much, and that left him with his current debate of whether he should walk in or knock on the door to his own study. On one hand, it was _his_ study. On the other hand, walking in unannounced could provoke an already angry Grell.

Letting out a deep breath, William pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning on and knocked on the door. A bit of rustling from inside the room, but nothing that sounded close. After bracing himself for something to be thrown, William opened the door slowly so that he still had time to use it as a shield should Grell decide to launch a book at him or something to that ridiculous extent. After reassuring himself that it was fine, William pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside.

If Grell had been crying, it was only made obvious from the light redness around his eyes. He sat curled up on the settee, hugging his knees tight against his chest. It made him look impossibly small, and William found himself staring for a moment since this was the first time he'd ever seen the other man look so _fragile._ His eyes trailed away, focusing on the tome at the other end of the settee, his own life's record. He moved to pick it up off the cushion so he could sit down, letting the book rest on his lap. He could practically _feel_ Grell watching him, analyzing his movements and mentally rehearsing murder plots.

"She was my sister," he said, breaking the silence. He opened the record in no particular place and idly flipped through pages.

The weight on the cushions shifted as Grell curled tighter around himself, studying William's expression as the other man flipped through page after page. It held its perpetual sobriety, but there was something wistful there. The only true difference, though, was the lingering color and light scratch against his cheek where Grell had struck him. A fleeting guilt washed over him, but only for a moment. He hadn't necessarily _meant_ to hit William, but that didn't mean that the man hadn't deserved it.

The sound of sliding pages stopped, and Grell's gaze lowered to the record and then back up again. The redhead moved around a bit so that his legs were tucked underneath him and he was leaning forward ever so slightly to read whatever William was so fixated on. The other reaper seemed to notice the change in position, as he moved the book off of his lap and onto the cushion between them. Grell looked at him with caution and waited for a second before pulling the book toward himself and letting his eyes wander the pages.

A tale of murder, though the book hadn't indicated Will's part. The record described a young girl named Mary, perhaps five or six years old. It would be more correct to say that she had been a young girl at _some_ point; in this, she was nothing but organs and limbs strewn about a child's bedroom. Blood had stained the floor, the walls, the ceiling; the carnage on the windows was so thick and viscous that what light shone in from outdoors was painted a deep crimson. In the center of the room, sitting in a pool of blood and viscera, and clutching what was still intact of the child, was Abigail. And in the threshold of the door, William T. Spears.

"Who was she?" Grell asked quietly, fingers tracing under the words as he read them.

"My niece," he answered. William sat forward slightly with his elbows on his knees, hands clasping together in need of something to do. "After the death of her husband, Abigail fell into this.. _illness_. She couldn't look at her daughter any longer."

Grell's eyes shot up at that, not only at the tragedy of a mother's despair, but at the blatant _honesty_ William was showing him. Grell highly doubted that William had ever outright lied to him before, even in all the years they'd known each other. However, whenever Grell asked a question he would typically get a direct answer - quick, effective, to the point, and just like William to be such. He never offered up more information than absolutely necessary, yet here he was, willingly offering up details of his life that had been long forgotten, consigned to oblivion the day he was stripped of mortality and became a reaper.

The record was closed quietly and Grell placed it between Will and himself, disregarding it in favor of leaning sideways against the back of the seat. William followed suit after a moment, leaning back and letting his head rest against the back of the settee with his eyes cast to the ceiling. Grell's own remained on the other man, two-toned eyes focusing on the light scratch that still remained.

"I'm sorry, Will," he apologized. William let his head roll along the back of the settee to look at the other. Their eyes met, and Grell immediately turned his gaze down to his lap.

They were quiet for a long while, Grell's apology lingering in the air as both of them considered his words. William didn't know exactly _what_ Grell was apologizing for, given that there were so many incidents that warranted one. And if the way Grell refused to meet his eyes was any indication, it could safely be assumed that even _he_ didn't know what the apology was for, but it didn't matter. He'd known the other man long enough to know when he meant something and when he didn't, and Grell was truly not one to apologize even when he was in the wrong.

That in mind, William let out a heavy breath and pushed himself from the settee, speaking over his shoulder as he walked to the door. "Expect a longer talk about this tomorrow."

Grell's head snapped up. "You're letting me stay?" He was answered with silence, and if it had been anyone other than William, Grell would have taken it as a bad sign. But if he was still being thrown out, he knew William had absolutely no qualms about saying so. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips in a silent gratitude as William left the room, closing the door with the soft sound of a latch.

He was letting Grell stay.

Really, what on _Earth_ was he thinking?


	4. Chapter 4

_"I thought it was agreed upon that this was not to be Sutcliff's replacement."_

Ridiculous.

 _"We agreed on nothing, Spears. You decided on something, and the Board made a unanimous agreement to overrule it. He's a fine boy, and twice as capable as what Sutcliff has proven himself to be. He'll do fine."_

William looked down at the name on the file currently in his hand. Then he checked, double checked, triple checked the department title. "Dispatch," it said, in clear black print. Absolutely, utterly ridiculous.

Looking up from the file in front of him, his eyes trained on the name placard at the edge of the empty desk he was sitting at. Where Grell Sutcliff's name had once stood, another was there to replace it:

RORY BRODEUR

"You look positively thrilled."

William turned his head slightly, trailing the voice back to the speaker. "I seem to recall you having the day off," he commented offhandedly as Eric Slingby walked around him to lean against the desk.

"Taking Alan's shift for the day. He wasn't feeling the best," Eric explained. When William looked up at him, Eric gave something of a half-shrug, which he understood as the other's own way to avoid talking about it. Instead, he nodded toward the file in his superior's hand. "Grell's replacement?"

"It appears that way, yes," William answered with a resigned annoyance as his eyes returned to the transfer sheets. As if the fact that Grell was being replaced didn't irritate him enough, the fact that it had been done without his consent set his blood to a boil. This was his department and he should have final say on what goes on with his employees. If Grell _were_ to be replaced, they should have promoted from within instead of transferring, and _after_ his trial was over.

Eric must have felt the radiating agitation because he fell quiet for a moment, instead finding interest in picking up the gold name placard from the desk and appraising it. "Brodeur? Sounds French."

"Indeed. He's a transfer from the Bordeaux branch..," William confirmed, voice trailing off in wonder as his attention hitched onto something much more interesting than Slingby's procrastination. Under his educational information, there was an extensive list of his achievements while still in Academy. Aside from the basic classes that were prerequisite for all Association staff, it mentioned a variety of optional classes, mainly in the form of extra history courses and mortal realm affairs. There were what seemed to be millions and myriads of linguistics classes, and yet in spite of all of these achievements in academia, everything under his departmental record was left blank. Everything that William truly needed to know about this new transfer seemed to be conveniently withheld.

Eric muttered something in acknowledgement and returned the nameplate to its place. After a heavy silence, he offered a rather exaggerated roll of his eyes. "So, is there something wrong with the kid or are you just sulking because he's replacing Grell?"

"I can assure you that I am not sulking."

"You're sulking."

William exhaled deeply as he looked up from his papers. "Slingby, I am quite sure that you have work that you should be doing," he pointed out, throwing the papers onto the desk in front of him. Eric picked them up as soon as they touched the desk.

"All done researching the new Grell?" he asked, flipping through sheets. William shot him a warning look, but he didn't seem to mind. He watched as the Dispatch Officer flipped through page after page, paying more attention to his expression than to the shuffling of papers. As manager of the department, he should have intervened and reprimanded Eric for looking through employee profiles; however, strangely enough it was for that same reason he made no move to do so. And as Eric flipped to the last page with a look of what could best be described as doubt, William knew he understood.

Eric looked up from the papers in his hand and he opened his mouth to say something, but his eyes moved away from William, fixing on something behind him. William followed his sight, turning in his chair to be met with a meek looking blonde man who stood even shorter than Grell and thinner than Alan. He had a look of curiosity, confusion, and just a small hint of expectancy. Grell's senior officer position was being filled by a man who looked as if he had never seen a day of work in his life.

"Well," Eric broke the silence as he dropped the manila folder to the desk. "I think I _really_ should be going. I'm _quite_ sure there's some work I should be doing." Pushing himself away from where he'd been leaning against the desk, Eric gave a courteous nod to the new employee and clapped William on the shoulder as he left.

Rory's eyes remained on Eric until he was well out of earshot before returning his attention to William. "Can I help you with something, sir?" he asked in a light accent. His words weren't necessarily impatient, more anxious than anything.

William rose to his feet and pulled his suit jacket down to straighten it out before offering his hand. "Rory, I take it? My name is William T. Spears, head of the department," he introduced himself as they shook hands, receiving only a nod in return. With his free hand, William gestured to the chair behind the desk. Rory took the cue without question, though it seemed to make him visibly more nervous.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?"

"I merely had a few questions about your file," William answered, pulling the folder off the desk. "There was some information that managed to be excluded from the paperwork I received earlier this week. I thought it a lot simpler to get the information from you directly than to contact Bordeaux again, as that could take days to get an answer."

That seemed to put Rory at ease because he formed something of a smile and relaxed his posture, leaning against the back of his chair. "By all means. What is it you want to know?"

"Unfortunately, it seems the better half of your work record didn't make it over. Your Academy transcript and outside studies are here, all quite impressive, though what I'm missing is the entirety of your departmental record," he answered, pretending to look over the papers again to ensure he didn't miss something. He hadn't; the reason he let Eric read over the file was to get a second set of eyes to confirm that fact. No, this information had been intentionally excluded, and the look that passed over Rory's face all but gave the reason why.

* * *

"You sent me a _Librarian_?"

William threw the file onto the desk before him and watched as the papers scattered about. The Director made no move to tidy them up, merely looked up at William with his hands clasped politely on his desk. William was never one for anger. He had always been of the mindset that emotions should be kept in check at all times, and they certainly had no place in a work environment at all. However, that aloof, uninvolved expression made him absolutely livid.

"You sent me a _Librarian_ to take over for a senior officer's position," William reiterated. His timbre was as monotonous as it ever was, but his words were still laced with venom. "The man has never seen a day of combat in his life, and you're in favor of putting him out in the field?"

"The head of Bordeaux Dispatch assured me that they had properly trained him for screening and collecting souls as soon as they were notified about the transfer."

"With all due respect, sir, Bordeaux has no where near the demon encounters that our department sees on a _good_ day. A few weeks of field training will have prepared him for nothing."

"Are you quite finished?" the Director asked. William stared at him, actually quite taken aback at the blatant disregard of his concerns. "Spears, let me make this perfectly clear. It was not your decision to put him on, and it will not be your decision to take him off, and should you-"

"I am manager of this department, I believe I should have some say in-"

"Do not interrupt me again, Spears," the Director barked, "or it will be the last thing you ever do as an employed man." William's jaw closed with a snap and his back straightened just the slightest bit more. "Now, as I was saying. Should you feel that this arrangement is not working out, you may appeal to the Board after a thirty-day probationary period. If it does not work out, you could have him change positions with one of the junior officers."

William had to bite his tongue to stop himself from inquiring about why they had not just done that in the first place. "Understood, sir."

"Very well then, you may return to your work," the Director dismissed him. As William made to leave, though, he spoke again. "Do give him a chance, William. Bordeaux was very fond of him and never once spoke ill of him." William dignified that with only a polite nod before leaving.

William pushed through the double doors of the Administrative building and was greeted with a brisk wind. It was nice outside, much nicer than the past few dreadfully cold days. It made the walk from the Administrative building to Dispatch seem quite pleasant actually, though it was too short to really enjoy. The Association was set as a large circle of buildings surrounding a large courtyard and save for Spectacles and General Affairs sharing quarters, each department was in a separate building. One could cross the courtyard to move about or take to the long, windowed hallways that connected each of the buildings. While it was nice outside, it was still cold enough that most of the staff kept to the halls rather than traversing the courtyard, and in the mood William was in, he had never been so grateful for cold weather in his life.

* * *

It only took a few seconds of being home for William to wonder if it would have been a better idea to just stay at the office, but any thoughts he had on the matter were drowned out by whatever _godawful_ noise was coming from upstairs. It was loud and obnoxious and likely almost certainly Grell-associated. Whatever it was, it sounded like it was wreaking havoc on his floor.

The noise only got exponentially louder as he followed it up the stairs, and it didn't take much deducing to figure out which of the spare rooms it was originating from. William paused at the open door for a second before he slowly leaned against the threshold. Grell stood with his back to him, hands on his hips as he mulled over something in his mind. "You've been busy," William remarked on the assembled-yet-empty bed frame and haphazardly placed furniture. The redhead jumped and spun around, startled into realizing that he was no longer alone. "Did Knox help you with this, too?"

"No," Grell lied. William stared at him until he relented. "Okay, _yes,_ but I just had him help me move everything from point A to point B. There are upper management dogs crawling all over my apartment and rummaging through my things, but I moved what I could here." William started to open his mouth but he was quickly interrupted. "Before you ask, they told me that I could move anything that wasn't being requisitioned. They aren't like to take my bed as evidence."

Pushing himself away from the door frame with his shoulder, he took a few well-placed steps into the room, careful to avoid tripping over any of the objects strewn about the floor as he moved. "I wasn't going to ask, but I suppose I should be thankful that you didn't take anything that was to be seized as evidence." The last thing William needed was for those upper management dogs - his colleagues, rather - to be rooting through _his_ house. "Though, on that note, you do recall that I said there would be a longer talk about this, yes?"

"Sure," Grell threw back over his shoulder as he started to work on his bed again. It was a particularly easy way to tune out the conversation. "First you made an ass of yourself and then felt bad about it, so you said that I could stay."

William felt his eye twitch ever so slightly. "I'm quite sure you're omitting a few key points of information, but that's irrelevant." Grell walked away from him, moving toward the far wall where his mattress and box frame stood for support. William followed closely to the other side of the box frame. "You didn't feel as though it were appropriate to wait until we discussed things _before_ you moved your entire apartment over?"

"Well we're both here now. What is it you wanted to discuss?" Grell feigned innocent and made something of a murmur of delight when William helped him assemble the last of his bed.

Where to begin? "We'll start with ground rules. Quit going through my things." An entire slew of reactions passed over Grell before he decided that was fair - a decision that took too much time for William's taste, but he wasn't in the mood to dwell on it. "Alright, next rule," he continued as they deposited the box spring and moved for the mattress. "Pull your weight."

"Was that a rule or are you asking me to pick up more of the mattress?"

"Both," he decided when he realized that he was indeed carrying the majority of the mattress' weight. One person had no business owning a bed this big, but it was so like Grell to be as decadent as possible. "More often than not, I don't leave the office until somewhere around the midnight hour, so that leaves little time for cleaning or cooking. Thankfully it appears you actually know your way around a kitchen."

Grell beamed and shifted so that he was carrying his equal share of the weight, conveniently right before they dumped it on top of the box frame. "There was never much to do at my apartment except read and cook." He waved his hand in a feigned dismissal of the compliment and plopped himself down on the left side of the bed. "Enough about how fantastic a chef I am, what are your other rules?"

"That's a gross embellishment. Rule three," he pushed on before Grell could say anything about his quip. He took a deep breath and sat at the foot of the bed. "Nothing you've seen or heard in this house _leaves_ this house." Grell turned at the waist to look back at him, but William focused on some imaginary spot on the wall. Over the years, he'd settled into his position as one who enforces the rules. It was difficult to admit that he was on the opposite end of things now. "I'm sure you can imagine that it would be detrimental for me to let that information get out."

Grell blinked. "You mean the fact that you're in possession of your own record."

William finally looked back at him. "Can you think of any other law I've broken in the past century?"

Whatever William had expected, it certainly wasn't for Grell to throw himself backwards into the bed laughing. After a few moments, which was still too long to laugh about such a possibly dire situation, Grell's head lulled over to look up at him. His hair fanned out around him, and only a few strands caught on his glasses when he turned his head. William had to bite back the compulsion to brush them aside. "Will. You just dragged me back from the mortal realm by the hair for _murdering women._ Plural. I think that the Board has its hands full already. How long have you had it? They probably haven't even noticed that it's missing."

He shrugged. "When did Alfred Oxley die?"

"Alfred Oxley?" Grell echoed, propping himself up on an elbow and looking up to William for some sort of answer rather than a question. He stared ahead, thinking back over the decades to the last reaper that had thought he was above the law. "Twelve years ago, I believe. Thirteen, maybe. Why?" William let out a deep breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Grell immediately sat up straight. "Oh, Will, no…"

"That sounds about right, actually," he admitted. He'd always known how long it had been in the back of his mind, but to hear it verbalized made his stomach sink. He dragged a hand backward through his hair. "Access to that part of the Library is extremely limited. Reapers are killed so rarely that no one has been there since then. That's missing the point entirely though; I need your word that this will never get out. Not to Ronald. Not to anyone."

The stress William put on his words prompted a frown from Grell. "I'm not a gossip, Will. The Board isn't hearing anything from me. Besides, like I said, they have their hands full with me right now anyway." Finally letting his arm buckle out from beneath him, Grell let himself sink back into the plush mattress. "I'm assuming that you didn't just come home early to talk about ground rules."

The bed was remarkably lush, William realized as he reclined himself to sink into it. It was too much of an extravagance for him, but he could appreciate why Grell would want it. "I didn't come home early to talk at all. I didn't see the need to be there since the Director seems to be managing my department just fine without me."

"Oooh~ Playing hookie out of spite? I didn't know you could be so catty, Will. What's he doing? I've _so_ missed work drama."

"What was that earlier about not being a gossip?" Grell made a noise of dismissal and his hand moved blindly to bat at William's head, which the latter took as an urge to continue. This was the part that he dreaded. Grell's mood could change so abruptly from one minute to the next. After being fired and evicted, he was somehow in good spirits, blind optimist that he was. He couldn't ruin that. Not right now, anyway. "There are new protocols that need to be implemented and new mandatory staff meetings that are being scheduled. _Someone_ decided to abuse the powers given to them, so new measures have to be set to make sure that it doesn't happen again."

Grell pretended to examine his nails. "Sounds like _someone_ must have had a lot of fun to make the Association write a bunch of new rules. And this is all being done above your head, you get no say?"

"Precisely. I've made it abundantly clear that I don't agree with some of the more drastic changes they've made, but I've been reassured that my opinion on the matter is irrelevant." For someone who rarely so much as exaggerated, William was amazed at how naturally the lies flowed from him. It wasn't _technically_ lying; changes were being made above his head, yes, but it wasn't the protocol or the meetings that bothered him.

A few seconds ticked by before William noticed that Grell had never moved his hand; it lay prone beside his head, fingertips almost brushing against his temple. It alarmed him that he was even slightly disappointed to feel the bed shift as Grell stood up. "Well, that's fine," he asserted as he brushed imaginary dust off of himself. "He can try to manage Dispatch if he fancies your job so much. You deserve a day off. You can help me put together my room."

"I don't think helping you move in and unpack constitutes as a day off," William challenged, but when Grell offered down a hand, he didn't refuse it. He pulled himself up and discarded his jacket on the bed, pushing up his sleeves as he and Grell set to work. Manual labor had never been on his list of things that he found relaxing, but it did wonders for working out stress. He could think of much worse ways to spend a day off.


End file.
